


When the dust settles.

by Directionless_Foray



Series: InSignificance [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Constipation, M/M, i felt like writing, minimal swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of late-night angst on opposite ends of the globe, told in the mutilation of emotions and iPhones.<br/>(Prequel to 'Before and after the storm')</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the dust settles.

**Author's Note:**

> Bet you thought you saw the last of meee ;)  
> THINK AGAIN!!  
> Apologies for the angst, I just thought of this and uh... just wrote it???  
> SORRY FOR OVER-SATURATING THE CRIS/MESUT TAG WITH MY CRAPPY WRITING, I JUST HAVE ALL THESE FEELINGS AND I NEED TO SHARE THEMMMM

Mesut doesn't know if he should call. They didn't exactly part on the greatest terms. (To be fair they didn't even  _part_ at all, Mesut kind of just... _left_ )

He paces back and forth in his still very bare apartment. He's surviving on the bare essentials, he looks around the empty apartment and feels the ghost of a bitter smile grace his face. It's ironic, isn't it? He feels just as empty and hollow as the apartment he's trapped in.   

Mesut decides not to call and tentatively places his iphone on his bedside table. He needs to get up early and he set an alarm he reasons, he knows that a  "hope you're settling in well" text is wishful thinking and an "I miss you," is even more so. He's keeping his phone close because he needs to wake up on time and he's still jet-lagged. That's all.

It's not like he would ever text or call him anyway.  

Just before he falls asleep Mesut slides the phone into the drawer and shuts it.

He ignores the unshed tears pricking behind his eyes and threatening to spill into reality and onto his pillow, he has a long day tomorrow.  

The phone still feels like a ticking time bomb just tick tick ticking away.

In all fairness, so does Mesut. 

 

-

 

Cris' phone, or various small parts of it, are lying in a dejected heap at the bottom of the staircase. He makes a mental note to buy a new one.

He'll deal with that tomorrow and he'll deal with... with the cause of it tomorrow as well. 

He snapped. Like a rubber band being forced to absorb too much tension until it... eventually ...snaps.

He was going to call him, he was going to be a _good friend_ and a  _good (ex)teammate._ Cris was going to do the _right thing_ (even though he'd fucked up so much already) But then he realised why he had to text. Because he's gone. Because he's not _here_ anymore. Because he _left._ Because Cris _let him l_ eave.  

Then Cris' mind went painfully blank, the white noise grew excruciatingly loud and in the next moment he was _so fucking angry._

And then he threw his phone at the wall and it shattered into tiny pieces and the pieces settled into a sad little heap. Watching something else break into little pieces that can't be put back together made him feel a tiny bit better, gave him some sick satisfaction but the feeling passes. Then he just wants to break something else again.  

He always did have anger issues. 

Cris burrows his head underneath his luxurious pillow and feels like the silence inside his head is only amplifying those thoughts that he had decided would stay locked in a box, a box named, 'don't even fucking consider opening if you want to preserve what little is left of your sanity.' 

Cris does not call him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?  
> All feedback and kudos are appreciated :) x


End file.
